


this dream is my reality

by writers_haven



Series: Jearmin Week Summer 2015 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, M/M, day 1: talking in your sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writers_haven/pseuds/writers_haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Jean!” Someone’s frantically calling his name, trying to shake him awake, but Jean’s just so tired. His eyes won’t open more than a fraction– he sees only a glimpse of blond hair before his eyes slide shut again. Jean’s a little curious, but it’s far too much effort to try again, and he’s feeling so comfortable… </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Jean rolls out of bed and shuffles downstairs to the kitchen, scratching at his bedhead, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Smells amazing,” he calls as he steps into the kitchen and wraps his arms around a slim waist, presses his nose into a pale, smooth neck. “You’re the best.”</p><p>Mikasa smiles, a tiny thing that used to be so rare. “I know,” she says, and flips the bacon over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this dream is my reality

_“Jean!” Someone’s frantically calling his name, trying to shake him awake, but Jean’s just so tired. His eyes won’t open more than a fraction– he sees only a glimpse of blond hair before his eyes slide shut again. Jean’s a little curious, but it’s far too much effort to try again, and he’s feeling so comfortable…_

\--

Jean wakes up to the smell of bacon.

He yawns, rolling over and having a big stretch. Somehow, he feels particularly well-rested today. It’s like the feeling of blessed sleep after a long, taxing day of work– but his job isn’t _at all_ taxing. It’s a desk job, no physical strain at all– very enjoyable in its mediocrity. When Jean was younger, he’d have thought it very boring indeed.

Jean rolls out of bed and shuffles downstairs to the kitchen, scratching at his bedhead, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Smells amazing,” he calls as he steps into the kitchen and wraps his arms around a slim waist, presses his nose into a pale, smooth neck. “You’re the best.”

Mikasa smiles, a tiny thing that used to be so rare. “I know,” she says, and flips the bacon over.

Jean smiles back and presses a kiss to her cheek. “The kids?” he asks, releasing her to steal a strip of bacon from the plate on the counter. She swats half-heartedly at him, but allows him to get away with it.

“The boys are at soccer practice,” Mikasa tells him. “Marie’s at her friend’s house. Mina’s son, you remember?”

Jean narrows his eyes, more for comedic effect than anything else. “Ah yes,” he says darkly, taking a menacing bite of bacon strip in his hand. “The one who will steal my daughter.”

Mikasa doesn’t roll her eyes, but Jean can tell she wants to. “They’re nine,” she reminds him dryly. “And it’s not stealing if she consents.”

“Didn’t stop Eren from saying I stole his sister when we got married,” Jean grumbles.

“Eren isn’t always right,” Mikasa points out, and Jean breaks out into a grin, because he’s never going to get tired of hearing her say that. “Stop grinning like an idiot and go set the table,” Mikasa chides, so he does, laughing.

Jean loves his life.

\--

_“You’re going to be okay, Jean,” the voice is saying firmly, “but you **have** to wake up.”_

_No, I don’t, Jean wants to say. It’s nice and warm, like he’s wrapped up in a woollen blanket, and he’s so sleepy. What’s the harm in a few more minutes of shut-eye?_

_There are hands cradling his face, and pressure on his forehead. “Please wake up,” the voice whispers, like a prayer. “Please, Jean, please.”_

_Jean tries, he really does, but ends up drifting off to sleep anyway._

\--

Jean really does love his life. He’s got a good job, a beautiful wife, three amazing children– his life is just about perfect. He doesn’t even see Eren all that much despite being his brother-in-law, which is surprising, but Jean isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The only thing that Jean has a slight problem with is his dreams.

For the past couple of days, he’s been having the same, disconcerting dream. A familiar voice sobbing his name; fingers digging into his shoulders, shaking him hard; hot tears dripping on Jean’s face. He can only open his eyes a little, can see only slivers and remember even less– blond hair, blue eyes, a tear-streaked face.

It’s disturbing, mostly because of how much it seems to affect Jean. It feels like these dreams are important, like he’s forgetting something –someone?– who meant the world to him.

Luckily, the feeling only lasts till sunrise; once he sees the shadows the morning sun casts on his wife’s beautiful face, he remembers how perfect his life is, and puts the dream out of his mind. If whatever it was had truly been so important to him, he never would have forgotten it in the first place, right?

\--

_“Jean, please,” the voice is murmuring now, wrecked and broken. “Please wake up.”_

_Who are you, Jean wants to ask, but his mouth won’t do what he’s telling it to. This time the little fraction he can see shows him a squidgy, upturned nose, a pair of small, soft hands clutching Jean’s. It feels nice, comforting; Jean wants to squeeze back, to reassure this person that he’s alright, that he’s not dying like they seem to think._

_There’s the tender swipe of a thumb across Jean’s forehead, the sound of a heartbroken sob in his ear. “I never got to tell you,” the voice whispers softly. “I never…”_

_They break off in tears, and Jean frowns. Tell me what, he thinks at the presence at his side, but all he can do is lie there and listen to their heaving sobs, feeling more miserable than he’s ever felt before._

\--

Jean wakes with an ache in his chest and tears running down his face.

“Bad dream?” Mikasa asks. She’s concerned, though she doesn’t look it, and gently wipes Jean’s tears away with her thumbs.

“Y-Yeah,” Jean gasps, blinking hard and shaking his head to dispel thoughts of tiny hands and a squidgy nose. “I-I’m fine.”

Mikasa isn’t convinced, but lets it slide, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before sliding out of bed. Jean rolls over and takes a deep breath, squinting at the picture Mikasa keeps on her nightstand of her and Eren with their arms around each other. For a moment, Jean thinks he can see a third figure beside Eren, with bright blue eyes and a shock of blond hair– and then he blinks, and the person is gone. _Weird_ , he thinks, but dismisses it as the lingering effects of his dream.

“Corin’s going on a field trip today,” she tells him quietly, probably as a distraction, as she starts getting dressed. “The zoo. Come see him off?”

Jean checks the time. He has work today, but his boss is forgiving enough. “Sure,” he smiles, thinking of his son’s chubby face and dark sharp eyes, and forgets about his dream entirely.

\--

Jean can’t forget the dream.

Suddenly, it’s like he can see that person _everywhere_. Everywhere he turns, it’s _blond hair blue eyes squidgy nose small hands broken sobs_ _Jean please I never got to tell you_ –

It’s driving him crazy.

Quietly, he goes to see a doctor. He’s prescribed sleeping pills and referred to a therapist. Jean doesn’t think he needs a therapist, not yet, but downs the sleeping pills thankfully, then curls an arm around his wife and wishes for a good night’s sleep.

\--

_This time, there are no painful words, no heart-wrenching pleas to wake up. Just warm hands clasping his, and little sorrowful sniffles every now and again._

_Then a new voice speaks. “We’re trying,” it says, low and gentle. “Have faith, Armin.”_

_Jean feels his brow furrow. Armin? Is that the blond’s name? Something like recognition twinges in Jean’s chest, like Armin is someone he can’t quite remember. Armin… Armin…_

_Suddenly, memories start flooding into Jean’s mind, memories of a whole different life. A life where he’s just a kid, just fifteen years old, but has seen people eaten alive, has nearly been eaten himself. He remembers Eren, both human and beast; he remembers Mikasa, strong and brave and terrified; he remembers Connie and Sasha, Erwin and Levi and Hanji, Marco and the rest of the 104th, Historia–_

_He remembers Armin, intelligent, ruthless, amazing Armin, who’s saved his life countless times before, who’s shot a woman in the face because it was her or Jean, who’s clutched an unconscious Jean to his chest and faced a Titan with only one short blade as a weapon because he wouldn’t leave Jean to die._

_“I never got to tell you.” The words have been ringing in Jean’s mind all day, but now it finally means something, now **Armin** means something, and Jean has to know._

_It takes incredible effort, like he’s lifting a Titan onto his shoulders instead of opening his eyes, and there’s a sharp pain in his head, but Jean is a stubborn bastard and finally– finally–_

_When he sees Armin, head resting on the bed beside Jean, hands clinging to Jean’s, desperate and shaking, hair so, so bright against the pristine white sheets– it’s a sudden realisation, that he hasn’t seen Armin in so long, that his other life hadn’t had a presence so radiant, so awe-inspiring, so precious._

_Armin, Jean tries to say, but all that will escape his throat is a hoarse groan._

_Armin jolts up anyway, eyes wide, raises a trembling hand to Jean’s face like he can’t believe it. He whips his head around to a soldier standing in the corner of the room. “Get Hanji,” he commands, then turns back to Jean, tears welling up in his eyes._

_“Jean,” Armin breathes, fingers ghosting over Jean’s cheekbone. “Oh, god, Jean.”_

_“What–” happened, he means to say, but can’t. His voice is rough and heavy in his throat, like he hasn’t spoken in a long, long time. He frowns, the memories of his two lives swirling around in his head. What is the truth? What is happening to him?_

_Armin seems to understand, the desperate relief on his face giving way to seriousness. “You were shot with a serum,” he says, voice low and steady. “It creates hallucinations– gives you a life so different from your own that nothing can remind you of reality. They –the King– wanted to shoot Eren, to get him out of the way until everything was over, but they didn’t know that you’d taken his place again.”_

_So… everything was a hallucination? A lie? His job, his wife, his kids– all figments of his imagination? Jean can feel himself reeling with shock. It had seemed so real. And this, this world where Jean got shot by the King, mistaken for someone else, where Armin cried at his bedside, where Eren turned into a monster by biting his damn thumb– **this** is the nightmare._

_Suddenly, Jean’s eyelids are so incredibly heavy again. “I’m going to take a short rest,” he tries to tell Armin, but isn’t sure how much of it makes it out of his mouth. Distantly, he registers Armin shaking him, shouting at him, but he’s just so tired. I never got to tell you, the words swim in his mind, reminding him. He opens his mouth, because there’s something he needs to tell Armin–_

\--

Jean wakes up to a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “I love you, too,” his wife says, smiling small and soft and perfect.

“Mm?” Jean hums, because he doesn’t remember saying anything.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Mikasa tells him, cuddling close.

Jean hums again, and falls into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. /hides
> 
> (also posted on [my tumblr](haven-writes.tumblr.com))


End file.
